


sharp as gold teeth

by MithrilWren



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: ??????????, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Developing Relationship, Enemies to Lovers, I still can't believe I wrote this, Interspecies Romance, M/M, i guess???????
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:14:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25842655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MithrilWren/pseuds/MithrilWren
Summary: The island cries its anger -thief,thief- and he follows the call.
Relationships: Vokodo/The Dragon Turtle
Comments: 32
Kudos: 60





	sharp as gold teeth

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this on about 3 hours of sleep and zero inhibitions. That's the only explanation I can offer.

Sharks know not to swim too close to Rumblecusp - where the surf is a degree too cold, where the water shimmers and spouts into the sky, where alien fish float on currents that run the wrong way, and scrounge their food amidst shards of obsidian ruin.

He is no shark. His course is not dictated by instinct. He is not moved by strange goings on above land - he has plumbed the ocean’s depths, and found stranger things by far, and claimed them all as his own. 

He takes what he desires, no matter where it resides. The ocean is his, to traverse and plunder at his whim.

And all the while, above the line of breaking swells where the air meets the sea, the island takes too.

* * *

The ship is the latest catch, brought to keel on Rumblecusp’s shore, and he feasts long into the night, and _well._ Belly warm with the fat stores of a heavy laden hold, he drifts below the surface, savouring the taste of gold beneath his tongue.

This is the first time the island speaks to him. Within the bubble of its rising ire, the water rakes at his scales, scalding heat pouring from lava vents below. Not enough to injure, not to a creature such as him. Only enough to warn.

_You have taken what does not belong to you. Return what you stole, or face my wrath._

And beneath the surface, a loose-hinged jaw curls back, and coins spill from the corners to the ocean floor below, drawing up clouds of silt around his clawed feet.

He does not need to speak, to know he has been heard.

**_Everything_ ** _belongs to me._

* * *

The shoals of the island are a bounty of spoils. Sailors bring their boats, and do not return. He feasts, and takes from their cargo at his leisure, though the island grumbles its dissent at every turn. The water grows foul with ashy sediment, and he’s forced to leave, for a time, but soon the waters clear and the ships return, and the shores of Rumblecusp are filled with easy prey once more.

He grows weary, of the ease.

The hunt beckons, and he follows the scent of tougher blood, far into open water.

And it is satisfying.

For a time.

* * *

When he returns, he does not plunder. 

He watches. He observes. He _hunts,_ with the patience of the barred ghoul that lurks in the sand, waiting for its prey to swim overhead.

On the seventh day, the waterfall splits, and a ship he did not take passes into the depths beyond. 

He follows.

The water closes at his back, which does not alarm him. He has forded the ocean’s eddies, born the scar of a wizard’s spell, met his match in the fiercest storms. He does not fear to traverse the waterfall. Powerful as it might be, it will find him more than suited to the challenge.

The steerers of the ship balk and run when they see him enter - no dead-eyed, glassy stare can withstand the fearful awe of his presence, but he pays them no mind as they flee to cower in the crevasses of the stone cavern. His eyes are only for the armada that surrounds him - the wealth of ships to take as his own.

Again, the island speaks. The ground rumbles, and the sailors wail, and he turns his ear to the direction of the quakes. Further in, beyond the orange glow. 

When he submerges once more, he smells sulfur in the water.

Sulfur, and _gold._

* * *

There are passages, hewn by time or by pressure, that lead to the island’s center. They are too small to contain him, and so he carves his own path, rock giving way to the relentless force of sinew and nail and gnashing tooth, until the flowers are rent asunder and scattered in his wake. The water froths and churns its anger at the carnage. He pays it little mind.

Gold, he smells, and jewels as well, and the electric sting of magic colouring it all with a flavour most pleasing. If he had known the island hid such a delicious pearl of treasure within, he would have claimed it for his own long ago.

He breaks at last into an open chamber, the ceiling above embroiled in shadows. The most dangerous things lurk in the darkest places of the ocean, and so he waits to see what will emerge.

One tentacle, then two, snake their way out of the darkness, lithe as the fluttering arm of the jellyfish, as beautiful and as liable to sting. He keeps his distance, waiting still. Patience is not a thing he lacks.

_Offer tribute, or choose to die here._

The temperature rises to scalding, and though the burns begin to seep past even his protective shell, he does not bend his neck.

_Who are you, that I should offer tribute?_

A growl or a roar sounds from above, as the rock of the cavern begins to give way.

_I am the Lord of Exandria, the god of this island. Interloper, you have taken what is not yours. Repay, or die._

Three tentacles lash out, curling around the base of his throat and tightening fast.

He does not resist, as the tendrils test their strength against his scales, and find themselves unable to penetrate a single line of armor. He lets himself be pulled up, drifting closer and closer to the heady scent of gold. Two flaring, fiery eyes flicker into view, mere specks of light in the darkness. The water around them shimmers with heat, and more precious things.

“I take what I want,” he speaks, and reaches into the darkness as he wheels around and dives backwards. His claws rake over a body of many appendages, none strong enough to cling to the roof’s surface in the face of such overwhelming force as he drives them both to the bottom of the cavern. They spin in the air until he is atop the creature, pinning it to the floor when the sediment settles.

All around float glittering coins as the creature stares up with eyes burning as bright as the deepest amber, brighter even than the fire that burns all around them, setting the water ablaze. 

The tentacle around his throat tightens, and tightens once more, until his beak is brought low to the creature’s own, until the scent of gold fades from prominence, until all he can smell is wealth, and hunger, and desire, and greed. 

A deeper desire awakens, for the first time in many, many years, and a wave of images begins to fill his mind, scene after scene after scene. From the onslaught, only two words need be gleaned, to understand that the creature’s realization matches his own.

_‘Then_ **_take.’_ **

**Author's Note:**

> And then they had whatever hot, kinky morkoth x dragon turtle sex you’d like to imagine, because I tried to for about 0.5 seconds before my brain short circuited and I decided it was time for bed.


End file.
